


Honeyed Wiltshire

by januarywren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Alpha Hermione Granger, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breeding Kink, Enthusiastic Consent, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Good Draco Malfoy, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, Marriage, Mates, Omega Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Romance, Smut, Tenderness, True Mates, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-01-29 19:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21415510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: “Enjoying yourself, Granger?”Hermione’s lips twitched as she looked over her shoulder, at the figure in the doorway. “Quite.”Her silver-haired husband crossed the distance between them in a few, quick steps and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “I’d call you Malfoy,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “But it doesn’t have the same ring as Granger, does it?”She didn't say that she adored the sound of her name on his lips, or that her heart fluttered when he covered her body with his own as if he would - as if he could - own all of her.AU Canon Divergence | Draco and Hermione heal from the war their own way, involving a stray, tabby cat, a vegetable patch, and shagging in a greenhouse.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 60
Kudos: 613
Collections: DarkBloodWolf13's Collection





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [terry012227](https://archiveofourown.org/users/terry012227/gifts).
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr prompt! 
> 
> Terry asked for a story where Hermione was shown tenderness from someone who recognized her as the Brightest Witch of Her Age. :) I'm not sure if this story is as smutty as you'd like - I love stories where Draco falls in love with Hermione during the war and joins them on their hunt for the Horcruxes. 
> 
> The idea of them setting up a potions business (or any sort of business), instead of being employed by the Ministry, without Astoria or Ron about are all elements of dramione that I love, and I hope you do too, Terry! 💚🐍 
> 
> It's something sweet and light, with a little angst...I hope I did your prompt justice! You're such a sweet person, and I enjoy talking to you (plus your comments on my work are always so, so nice!). 💚

She shrugged off her robes, as the door closed behind her.

The greenhouse was a place she adored, one that was filled with an abundance of life. It was filled with every herb and flower a blooming world of color and variety, that made her feel at home. She moved to the counter that Draco had dubbed 'hers', knowing how she tenderly cared for the gentle Hermione roses that grew there.

Fitting then, that they were the key to a soothing potion they’d created, one specifically made for night terrors. It was one of their most ordered potions, one that they sold for well below market value, wanting the public to be able to afford it. Hermione caressed one of the blooms, whispering soft words to it.

She didn't have the knack for tending to plants as Neville did (Luna writing to her that Neville had morning chats with the primroses, while the toadstools had warned him of poison ivy hiding in the underbrush) but enjoyed them with patience few thought that she had. Neville too had proved to be a resourceful friend, as their owls frequently flew back and forth; his letters filled with herbology advice, and the latest news from the wizarding world. He taught herbology at Hogwarts, while Luna maintained the Quibbler, though they both were fiercely private of their friendship with Hermione and Draco, who hadn’t been seen after the war.

Hermione was glad for that, as well as her friendship with the Weasleys, especially Molly and George. She had several jumpers that Molly had made her, hanging in her closet, and Draco had several too (Molly had made them primarily in Slytherin colors, though she'd included one that was Gryffindor for him, and a Slytherin one for Hermione). Hermione had surprised him on his birthday, wearing the sweater and nothing else; the best gift Draco had ever received.

Their farm was far from Hogwarts, and farther still from the wizarding world, though neither of them had given up magic, or snapped their wands. They regarded their privacy as sacred and reveled in the fact that they had few neighbors, miles between them. They had a Floo in their home, though it was heavily warded against unexpected visitors; the only ones Hermione would allow without thinking were the Weasleys (especially Molly, who was still like a mother to her, and George who never failed to make her laugh, despite Draco’s sneers). Draco had few visitors, Lucius in Azkaban, and had little relationship with his mother; her views firmly against muggle-born still.

Hermione had giggled at Draco's relief when they'd gone to town and found that the sunny town had a bakery, one that was well known for their candy. She’d been prepared to owl Honey Dukes for him, surprising him once or twice, though he staunchly maintained that the bakery near them was better. He’d taken to living away from the purebloods he’d known better than she had expected, despite his tentativeness of muggle things at first (though he’d quickly learned how useful a dishwasher was, after having to wash dishes by hand, when she’d been using his wand. The wand she’d taken from Bellatrix wasn’t responsive all the time, and they planned to contact Ollivander soon).

But for now, they were happy together and at home in their cottage. They had a bountiful vegetable patch, one that grew outside the greenhouse due to the temperament of the seeds; as they’d found when they grew pumpkins in the greenhouse, and they’d grown to surpass the size of Hagrid’s waist! Outside they grew normally, alongside a variety of squashes and heirloom tomatoes, carrots, and other things they made into stews and hearty meals. (Both of them had been slow to lose the gauntness from the war, their cheeks pinched as if they’d been starving children, which was…painfully true).

Hermione would love to have animals too, though Draco had sneered at the idea of getting a hippogriff. She thought more along the lines of getting chickens, and goats, maybe a cow or two. There were potions that required hairs from animals and nail clippings, nothing as nefarious as their ears or hooves. Draco had conceded to getting two horses: a black stallion for him, and a gentle, dapple gray mare for her. They called the pair Salazar and Rowena, and to their delight, the pair had mated. Hermione had owl’d for books about horses and what to expect, as Rowena would most likely give birth in the spring. (Seeing Draco brush Salazar’s mane, and tell him he had to treat Rowena gently made her smile, though her heart went _pitter-patter_).

“Lovely,” Hermione said, the roses opening to her. She traced her finger against the curve of serrated leaves and noted that she would have to trim the foliage back for Fall soon.

“Enjoying yourself, Granger?”

Hermione’s lips twitched as she looked over her shoulder, at the figure in the doorway. “Quite.”

Her silver-haired husband crossed the distance between them in a few, quick steps and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “I’d call you Malfoy,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “But it doesn’t have the same ring as Granger, does it?” His tone was teasing as he pressed himself against her back, letting her feel his excitement.

“It’s not the same,” she admitted, nibbling on her bottom lip. “But I…I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Only used to it?” He asked, his tone mockingly sad. “You wound me, Granger.”

She rested against him, feeling his tense form behind her. “I don’t regret it,” she said softly. “I never have, Draco.”

The war had been devastating on all of them, no matter their House. She felt him rub soothing circles on her forearms as she shivered, remembering the months on the run; Harry’s face as it became more cadaverous with every passing day, and Ron’s words became harsher, everything falling apart between them. It was the Horcrux, she knew, the amulet that they all took turns wearing - it had changed them all, more than they knew.

Ron had stormed away and hadn't returned until she and Harry had been dragged to the Manor. Ron had been there too, captured by Snatchers the same as they had, and she'd wanted to weep at his appearance; they'd smashed his teeth, his mouth bleeding until his shirt was stained red, and the floor was slick beneath his feet.

Soon it had become soaked in her blood too -

“Breathe,” Draco whispered, his breath warm against her skin. She took shallow gasps and forced herself to inhale; her arm burning. They both knew what was hidden beneath the sleeve of her sweater, and what it had meant for them. Draco had watched as she’d been tortured by mad Bellatrix, and she’d focused on the tears streaming down his cheeks. Afterward when Dobby had helped them escape -

Draco had come too.

Amidst Ron's struggle to scream, Harry's wide-eyed shock, and her shuddering comatose, Draco had sobbed that he was sorry for everything, everything and more. He couldn't do it, he said -

"_You have to defeat him_," he'd hissed to Harry, while he took her into his arms as if she meant something to him. It was impossible, her thoughts reeled, it made no sense - “_The world will be fucking hell if you don’t, Potter_. _The way things are now? It’s nothing how it’ll be if he wins._”

Only she knew how he’d looked during the school year, when Harry had been obsessed with proving that Draco was a Death Eater, while she saw the classmate she knew turn paler and gaunt, withdrawing from everyone, even Crabbe and Goyle. He’d looked as if he had Dragon Pox, and she’d burned more letters than she cared to admit in the Gryffindor Common Room, before sending him a short missive -

_I’ll help you._

_H. J. G._

He’d never replied, though she noticed he’d never looked her way after that, saving his sneers for Ron or Harry, but never, ever her. It was as if she didn’t exist; as he brushed past her without snarky comment, and his Slytherin friends had fallen behind him too. There were no more insults or stray hexes, only silence when it came to her; an unnerving, constant silence. She’d known that something was very, very wrong, but had become wrapped up in the other ones of the Golden Trio, and the hunt for Horcruxes. She’d been terrified out of her wits and felt a part of her die the day she’d Obliviated her parents.

No one had understood -

Though she knew she’d let no one in, never telling Ron or Harry about what she’d done, or what she feared. She knew they had their own fears and watched from Draco’s arms as Harry vomited into the sand. The raging water had washed away his vomit, and he’d wiped the rest away from his chin, though nothing could soothe the nausea in his throat.

Hermione had wanted to scream still, biting her lip until she’d tasted copper.

Her heart hurt at her thoughts, an ache in her chest that never quite left, though she felt lulled by Draco murmuring shallow things in her ear. "I'm here, Hermione," he said, and she believed him.

He hadn’t left them after fleeing from the Manor, instead staying with them, even as Ron insisted he leave, and Harry pressed his wand against his throat. She’d stared at them blankly before interceding, saying that he could help them.

“_Please_,” she’d asked Harry.

His hand had faltered and fallen back to his side, though he’d gripped his wand until his knuckles turned white. “_Alright_,” Harry had conceded, his features troubled. The war was more violent than any of them had thought it would be, the children soldiers that they were. It was one thing to follow the prophecy, another to see the reality of it. “_Alright, Hermione_ -“

Draco had taken her back into his arms then, rocking as she trembled with the aftereffects of being _crucio’d_. She hadn’t been able to question him using her words, instead meeting his eyes and he’d whispered that he was sorry, again. She’d made no comment, though in the days following he said the same, over and over again.

Between the two of them, she wasn’t sure who had been tortured more.

“You were there for me,” Hermione said, gazing at the foliage growing all around them. The greenhouse was tempered to perfection no matter the weather outside, and the plants bloomed in the lush temperatures. “You still are.” She looked down at her hand, where a golden snake entwined about her ring finger. Its eyes were storming green, made from emeralds that had been a part of Draco’s family ring.

He’d made the wedding ring for her months after the Final Battle when they'd fought side by side and watched as Voldemort fell. Draco had caught her as Harry fell too, and pressed her against his side as she screamed, and cried. There'd been other casualties that day; Lavender, Fred, and countless other classmates that they’d grown up with. There were no bloodlines then, no division between houses, as students wept in each other’s arms, and others cleared the rubble away from the dead. There wasn’t a spell to bring them back, there was nothing they could do.

_Nothing_. 

Draco had been taken away by aurors, hours after he sat Hermione in the Great Hall, until the Weasleys came to her side. She’d felt numb, barely able to taste pumpkin juice as a goblet had been forced into her hand. She’d wanted Draco, she thought, only he was gone. The newspapers had been kept from her, though she’d managed to find one that said he was likely to get the Dementor’s Kiss, an idea that had turned out to be nonsense. Charges against the Malfoy heir had been dropped, as he was the last of his house, and just a boy when he’d taken the Dark Mark. There were other Death Eaters to arrest and charge, others that had committed more violence than Draco ever had.

With the Ministry focusing on rebuilding, and the wizarding world in shock, Draco had said there was a place they could go; one where they wouldn't be hounded by the press, and the walls were silenced with impenetrable charms. It was his only reference to the nightmares they both suffered from. She'd only lasted a few days at the Burrow before her constant screams had kept the others awake, and she'd felt ashamed at Molly holding her as she wept, while Ron had been committed to St. Mungo's to heal.

Later, she learned that Draco had returned to the Manor and attempted to burn it down. The fire had started in the drawing-room, where he'd watched as the wallpaper melted and fell, and the room engulfed in flames, though her blood had soaked the floor still.

“Some days I can’t believe you said yes,” Draco said softly, resting his chin on top of her head. She felt safe in his arms, warm and protected as he held her against him. He was always touching her, resting his head on her shoulder, holding her hand, or toying with her curls. The Hermione she’d once been might have minded, longing for connection, the same as she had held others at bay.

Yet the woman she was then, craved everything he had to give, and more.

She knew that she gave herself in turn to him, never far from his presence. She welcomed his attention as she never had another, aside from her familiar, Crookshanks. He’d passed shortly after their move to the country, and they’d buried him beneath an apple tree, one that flowered beautifully and produced the sweetest apples.

She'd quickly found that Draco was pleasant company; comfortable with her silence, the same as he was with their heated, teasing discussions. Neither of them did anything by halves, and they'd realized they'd make wonderful partners - Draco with his skill at potions, while she had a talent for ingenuity and research.

Together they’d transformed their land to be teeming with flowers, fruits, and various vegetables, growing herbs that no one else had in England and sending for seeds from abroad. Hermione used her ties to the Muggle world to find produce that was unknown to the wizarding world, and added to the potions they made, while Draco was forever brewing and bottling potions. Hermione's breath had caught the first time she saw him brewing, as his hair fell over his eyes, and his elegant hands chopped hybrid figs. She'd fled to the greenhouse, a place that had rapidly become her favorite place, even more than the ever-expanding library they had in their home.

Their home -

The cottage had become a home to both of them, a cozy place with knit blankets, a roaring fire, and the constant, pleasant smell of something brewing. They'd had two bedrooms, hers decorated in red and gold, while his room had been green tones and gilded furniture. There were tastes that neither of them lost, though they both tended toward comfort in the common rooms, and he'd come to appreciate her muggle appliances (especially the coffee maker where he loved to make caramel flavored coffee with frothy milk on top).

There had been another addition too when a stray cat had come to live in their fields. The tabby cat had a torn ear, and bowed legs, though it loved to trot after them, as if it had nothing else to do. The cat was useless at hunting mice, crying instead for them to feed it, and loved nothing more than a saucer filled with warm milk. Draco had hesitated at first, and she'd teased him, asking if he was allergic to non-pure things. He'd chuckled in reply, and she'd felt a warmth in her belly, though she'd brushed it off, the kitty in her lap.

He’d come into their home soon after, where he loved to curl on the end of her bed, and chewed on Draco’s shoes, every chance he got. They’d decided on the name “Merlin”, though Draco had wanted to name him after a constellation as if the cat was his heir (her stomach had flip-flopped at that). He admitted the name fit, as Merlin grew naughtier and naughtier, and they found themselves shouting his name (where he’d meow loudly, and come to them for head pats and belly scratches).

And slowly, Merlin had brought them together, waking Draco in the night when Hermione sobbed from a nightmare. She’d warded her room against the noise, but had never warded her room against Draco, or Merlin entering. He'd followed the cat to her bedroom and found her sobbing, and he'd offer to stay. He'd curled beside her, holding her in his arms, something that happened without end after the first night.

Soon their rooms were joined together, a pleasant mesh of their tastes.

They shared the same bed, and each came to long for nighttime. He secretly loved the feel of her in his arms and shuddered when she kissed him - she'd stumbled from the bed, blushing, and apologized when he'd tugged her down beside him and silenced her protests. They'd kissed without end, and found they were each other's firsts as she bared herself to him, and he adored her body with kisses everywhere. He'd made love to her, both knowing it meant something to them, and he'd held her impossibly close as he came inside her.

And she’d come too, over and over again, as he buried his head between her thighs and done everything he could to make her cry with pleasure. He thought that he could spend the rest of his days lapping away at her if only she'd say his name all breathy and sweet again. He showered her with attention and she reveled in it, just as she reveled in all of him.

“I love you,” she whispered, knowing that he heard her.

“I love you too,” he replied, his hand creeping down to her jeans. There was never anyone he’d felt as strongly about as Hermione, even in school when he’d done everything he could push her away, and let his father’s teachings burn themselves into his veins. He’d been a fool, the memory of her with Krum at the Yule Ball still making his jaw clench. He’d been with Pansy then and hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Granger as she’d been then. He’d hated himself then for not having her hanging on his arm, and had ignored Pansy as she’d stormed away in a pique of jealousy.

“Only you.”

He undid her zipper and slipped his hand into her knuckles, stroking between her thighs. His touch was unfaltering, as he reveled in touching her, the girl that he’d thought would never be his. She was his love, his steady and graceful love, who would never leave him. “Open for me, darling,” he cooed, and in their reflection, he saw how her cheeks flushed. She wanted him, the same as he wanted her, and felt himself falter at the thought.

There were times he felt he didn’t deserve the witch in his arms, as brilliant and golden as she was.

“Please,” she whispered, knowing what he needed. “Show me your love, Draco.”

And he did, as he unbuckled his own jeans, and slid into her.

She groaned as he filled her, bending her against the counter. He rocked against her, slowly, and whispered filthy things that he would do to her in her ear while stroking her thighs. He knew what made her sigh, and what made her blush, the same as she knew how he ached to be touched. Soon they were in pleasure, together, their bodies entwined like the physical embodiment of love.

Hermione had never been one to read romance novels but couldn’t hold back her sentimental thoughts. They’d had a quiet wedding, one where only the Weasleys, Minerva, and Draco’s friend Theo had attended. It’d been on their farm when the flowers were in bloom, and they’d married under the apple tree, where blossoms had fallen around them (as if Crookshanks approved of their love). They were equal partners, neither wanting to be apart from the other for long. Hermione knew when Draco’s hands trembled that he had anxiety, and busied herself with distracting him; once pulling him into the bath, fully clothed, and laughed as he sputtered against her.

“Draco -“

She keened as he drew issues over her jaw, before nipping at her pulse. He left hickeys behind, ones that he never let heal (and she didn’t either, even though she could have easily cast a healing spell). It was only the two of them and Merlin, yet he wanted the world to know that she was his.

There was nothing that he adored more than when she was against him, and he felt her lithe body. He could touch her forever, tracing her gentle curves, and burying his face in her curls, without end. Yet he loved her no matter what she did, whether she was racing him on horseback, or covered in dirt and weeding the garden. She was flesh and blood, more than any pureblood heiress he’d ever known, and filled with life that he would have envied if she hadn’t been his.

_His, his, his_.

“Hermione,” he said her name, his tone thick like honey with devotion. He’d proposed to her one night when they sat in front of the fire and drank from mugs filled with hot cocoa. It was the way they celebrated the winter sols, with garland across the fireplace and Merlin wearing a red bow. Draco had been reading to her from a thick tome before he'd quieted, and she’d asked if something was wrong.

“There’s something right,” he corrected, “at least I think so.”

And then he’d knelt beside her and proposed.

“Yes,” Hermione cried, “yes, yes, yes- “

She’d said the same then, and her eyes had glistened with unshed tears as he slipped the ring on her finger. “I only want you,” he’d said then. “Now, and forever, if you’ll have me.”

“And enough children to make our own Quidditch team?” She’d teased him and he’d blinked, before grinning.

“Of course.”

He collapsed against her back, his chin on her shoulder. She liked the weight of him against her, feeling small in his arms. Their breathing was thick as they both quieted, their shared release trickling down her legs.

Hermione glanced at their reflection, her eyes meeting his.

“Dirty girl,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smile. “I’ll clean you up- “

She knew that he would and shook her head rapidly before he could kneel. If he did, she wouldn’t be able to tell him her news -  
  
  


“Draco,” she interrupted, her cheeks blushing. “I -“

She licked her lips, feeling how dry they were.

“I’m ready to start trying.”

Her words were abrupt, and he sharply inhaled, quickly grasping the meaning behind them. Though she’d mentioned having children when he proposed, they both cast regular contraception charms, as well as Draco brewing a potion for her monthly. He’d said nothing, though her heart had melted when she’d found a mini broom in their closet, one that looked as if he’d made it.

For their future child.

“If - if you’re ready too,” she continued. “I don’t want to rush you- “

“Hermione- “

“I’ve always wanted at least one,” she said, her cheeks pinker than they’d ever been. “We don’t have to have more, though I- “

“Granger.”

His fingers curled beneath her chin, tilting her head toward him, before snogging her soundly. He always knew how to take her breath away, in the two years that they’d been together (and before then, during their days at Hogwarts, if she was honest). His forehead rested against hers, and his eyes were warmer than she’d ever seen them. “I want children with you,” he said firmly. “Today.”

“Today?” She squeaked.

“Mhm,” he smiled wolfishly. “Malfoys never do anything by halves, wife. I believe you mentioned something about our own Quidditch team…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by NCUH! 🦝🖤


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I'll write anymore for Honeyed Wiltshire, but I'm 1) Weak for dramione and 2) Obsessed with the idea of Draco and Hermione finding happiness together, away from the wizarding (and muggle) world. 
> 
> And 3) I'm currently learning as much as I can about bees and beekeeping! As strange as it might sound, I love insects and researching facts about them. I used to have pet insects until they made me sick (I have enormous problems with my immune system) so now I love them through books and watching videos on Youtube, lol. 
> 
> Beekeeping is a fascinating, amazing subject, and I'm glad I was able to write a little bit about it. :)

“Granger?”

  
  
His voice held a trace of fear mingled with indignation, though his wife knew curiosity burned beneath it all. Oh yes, Hermione had learned that her husband was nearly as curious about the world as she was. Equally so, if she was honest. There was a reason why they’d always competed so closely with each other, her grades always just a smidgeon better than his (aside from Potions, where he excelled in the practical application, while she preferred the theory of it).

  
  
He was less than the poncy git she'd known, as they'd grown up together, his fascination with Muggle things making her laugh. She remembered the first time they'd been to Muggle London and had browsed a few antique stores (something she'd loved to do with her mother, spending hours finding old books, and dainty knick-knacks that had cluttered her room). Draco was thrilled with an old, working radio and even more thrilled with the price.

  
  
Hermione had been teaching him Muggle currency, and he'd reveled at how much lighter notes were than galleons. She'd gotten him a wallet, one with the Union Jack across it as if he were the same as any tourist. He'd been very happy too when they'd gotten fish and chips from a street-side vendor and eaten them with their hands. He'd been like a child, thrilled with the world and its offerings, and less of a scandalized, purebred man.

  
  
"Yes?" Hermione assumed her 'swotty' tone, one that hid her mirth well. She laughed on the inside, as he looked from the buzzing package to her blank expression. She knew the questions on the tip of his tongue, though she waited for him to ask, before offering anything. (She’d been learning from her Slytherin husband, though he outmaneuvered her more than she’d like to admit).

  
  
“What is that?” he asked, his brow raising.

  
  
“_Apis mellifera carnica_," she replied, and he sneered at her use of Latin as if he wouldn't understand. He'd been groomed as the Malfoy heir, the modern-day prince of the wizarding world, and had scars on his body still to prove it. His hand instinctively curled across his forearm, as if he could hide the mark that stained his skin beneath his shirt. It was one that she never failed to kiss sweetly, making his skin burn more than when he'd taken the Dark Mark, as she held his gaze, and showed her acceptance of him, and what he’d done.

  
  
His jaw clenched as he thought of Katie Bell. Weasley. Dumbledore.

  
  
Hermione set the package aside and moved to cradle his face in her hands. He blinked, his focus swinging back to her, as she rubbed her thumbs against his cheeks. She always knew how to bring him back, in a way that no one else did.

  
  
“Carniolan honeybees?” he asked, translating their Latin name.

  
  
“I thought we’d try raising honeybees,” she said softly, licking her lips, as she did when she was nervous.

She was a fool if she thought he would if he even could, deny her anything.

  
  
“Carniolans are known for their docile temperament,” she explained, her fingers sweeping across the bridge of his nose, and his temple. Her touch soothed him, as he leaned further into her. “They can be a challenge to raise, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate being stung,” she added lightly, a teasing smile on her lips.

"Who said I'll have anything to do with them?" he grumbled, though he felt himself smiling too. She knew how to keep him on his toes, as if she knew that he struggled with feeling restless, at times. She never questioned him when he invited her to ride with him as if it was a long-standing plan between them, and they rode for hours together through the forest. Nor did she question when she heard him sob during the night, instead she'd cuddle against him, and whisper gentle things into his ear. She was exact and precise, his little wife, but free of restraint when it came to his sorrowful moods.

  
  
"You can't have any honey if you don't help raise them," she retorted, though her tone held no bite. They both knew his love for sweet things, though he disregarded dessert more and more, instead tasting the sweetness between her legs. As if they had the same thought, he leered down at her, and she blushed starkly.

She was less given to expressing her thoughts than he was, and her husband delighted in coaxing filthy words from her in bed. She swore that he strutted like a peacock when she thrashed and moaned beneath him, and he'd told her that he loved nothing more than when she cried out his name. Hermione had said nothing at that, though she'd peppered his face in kisses, resisting the urge to confess that she felt the same when he said hers.

  
  
It was a future she’d never imagined; her heart filled with happiness towards her husband, the one who knew her more than anyone else. They were friends, the same as they were lovers, and Luna noted that they seemed to balance each other out; chasing away “the other’s wrack spurts”, whatever that meant. (Hermione hadn’t disagreed with her friend, somehow knowing she was right).

  
  
“Shush,” she said lightly, before resting her cheek against his chest. She liked to listen to the sound of his heartbeat, though she hadn’t told him in so many words, he knew it proved to her that she was there.

  
  
He was real.

  
As it was, he had no intention of leaving her; his throat burning at the thought. There was no one he wanted, as he wanted his wife, nor that he would ever want as he delighted in her. He'd never told her that it was her scent he'd smelled in his Amorentia; the floral scent one he held close to his heart. She smelled the same still; vanilla and cinnamon (a spice that she loved to add to her midnight tea), and roses clinging to her.

  
  
Merlin, he’d wanted to vomit when he realized that she’d been the one he smelled. It’d been weeks after the assignment, and he’d passed her in the hallway, his head snapping back as he realized he’d smelled it again. The girl that he’d taunted and tortured for years was the one he was meant for, and he’d had several sleepless nights after realizing it. Blaise had shared his stock of Dreamless Sleep with him, and nothing had been mentioned again, though Draco had never forgotten his discovery.

He had never asked her what she'd smelled, though he remembered when he'd changed his cologne. Her nose had wrinkled when he'd kissed her, and she'd sneezed pointedly as if the change offended her. (The little swot, he thought fondly). He'd reverted to his old cologne and hadn't changed it since.

  
  
“Was this the secret you’ve been hiding?” Draco asked, tilting his head. His hair curtained the side of his face, as he’d been letting it grow. She’d need to tend to it soon, something he never thought a wife of his would do. He liked when Hermione cut it for him, admonishing for him to stay still, and undertaking her task as seriously as she did everything else in her life.

  
  
Added to that, was the fact that they had no house-elves to help them. It was a far cry from his upbringing, when the Manor had been brimming with house-elves, and everything had been done for him. Hermione had giggled the first time she’d taught him to do laundry, and they’d ended up to their waist in bubbles (after he’d poured the entire bottle of detergent into the washer). Secretly he planned to adopt a house-elf or two after Hermione became pregnant. The war had left many households devastated, and there wasn’t the need there used to be for the creatures, hordes of them left orphaned.

  
  
He knew that both of them remembered the sacrifice Dobby had made, helping them flee from the Manor. His heart had changed that day, as the house-elf his father had abused showed more courage than he ever had. Sometimes he wondered if his wife thought of him sill, and the others they'd lost or left behind. He never saved clippings from the newspapers, their cottage receiving the Daily Prophet, the Quibbler, and other newspapers, though he knew Hermione rarely read them. She preferred academic journals instead, or magazines from the muggle world, that he puzzled over, seeing how the pictures didn’t move. He wondered about that too, if the muggle world could learn from the wizarding one and vice versa.

  
  
They were silly thoughts, ones that would never come to fruition, but ones he thought still.

  
  
“Have you been watching me, Malfoy?” Hermione teased, cocking her eyebrow.

  
  
“Always,” he purred, slipping his arms about her waist.

  
  


* * *

  
  
It was truer than he’d like to admit, as he instinctively sought her out, wherever she was. It was easy enough to know her schedule; as she took the mornings with him, breakfasting, and then reading a tome with Merlin on her lap or laying on top of her feet. In the afternoon, he would brew potions, while she helped, or she would go to the greenhouse; collecting herbs that he needed and tending to her plants. They normally took lunch alone, though Draco knew his wife was guilty of forgetting to eat, instead becoming too wrapped up in her work. He often made her tea and brought her a muffin, or a salad, leaving the lunch box on her desk in the greenhouse. She brought him sweets in turn, often surprising him by hiding candy on his desk, or amongst his potion-making supplies, and he'd be filled with delight.

  
  
The house-elves had often done the same, as he’d grown up inside the Manor, and busied himself by hiding from his father. The elves had hidden sweets for him, often pushing them beneath the door after he’d failed to impress his father, or he’d hid from his cloying mother. He loved both his parents, though he felt like a perpetual, disappointing child before them; as he’d bent his head, and clasped his hands behind him, as his nanny had instructed. Seemingly the elves had known not to comment on the tears running down his cheeks, instead hiding sugar quills in his desk, and smuggling chocolate frogs inside his pillow, or placed on top of his folded clothes. He’d never thanked them, not after his father had sneered at him for being polite to Dobby.

  
  
“_They’re less than human, Draco_,” his father had said, cruelly laughing as Dobby had looked at the floor. “_They're in little need of manners as if they'd understand please, or thank you_.”

  
  
His father had added that they were the same as mudbloods, a word that made him flinch. He knew the word was carved on his wife’s arm, and he wrapped it himself when it bled through her shirts. Bellatrix had used a dark knife to curse Hermione, the wound impossible to heal. He always dedicated time to study the wound, and what he could do to heal it. He’d made her a salve, one he rubbed into the wound himself, before kissing it gently.

  
  
Their evenings were filled with a meal taken together, the scraps given to Merlin, before they read next to the fire, the two of them frequently arguing over magical theory, or discussing ideas for a new potion. They took baths together (frequently spilling more water than they soaked in), and he delighted in washing her curls. He shook his head at his younger self, wondering how he’d ever sneered at his beautiful girl, as he dried her curls, and brushed them before bed. She was more than he’d ever imagined, and the way she came beneath him was a sight he adored.

  
  
Especially after her agreement to start trying, it was a sight he saw more and more.

  
Truthfully, they reveled in one another as if they were newly courting still. He'd been awestruck when she'd greeted him in their bed, wearing nothing but the jewelry he'd given her. His favorite piece was an heirloom diamond, the pendant nestled between her breasts. It was the only piece he had from his mother, the piece one that his father had given her upon their engagement. Draco had taken his wife then, and in the morning had delighted in dressing her, knowing that she wore the pendant still.

* * *

  
  
Yet in the weeks prior, Hermione had been hiding something from him.

  
He knew that she had warded a section of the greenhouse from him and that it had gone through recent expansions. He'd watched from the kitchen window, sipping his tea (while Merlin cried at his feet, thinking he had food), as his wife had bustled about. He'd known better than to pester her after he'd tried to coax her secret from her, and she'd hexed him. Fuck, she wasn't as harsh as the younger Weasley with her hexes, but they had a bite to them still. (His arse had been sore for days, and she'd smirked when he'd avoided sitting.)  
  


  
“So we’re beekeepers now, Hermione?”

  
  
“Do you mind?” she asked sheepishly, looking away from him. “I guess I should have asked you first, I just,” she squared her shoulders, looking back to him, and he knew that she was going to confess to him. She always knitted her eyebrows before she unburdened herself to him, whether she was admitting she’d eaten the last slice of apple pie, or that she had nightmares of him turning his back on her.

  
  
_His little Gryffindor_, he thought fondly.

  
  
“Do you remember when I went to town? Last month?”

  
  
“Mhm,” he nodded.

  
  
“I ran into Mrs. Beaufort -“

"Oh? Delightful woman," he said knowingly and chuckled at her scowl. The woman was the town florist; a family business that had lasted for three generations. Draco had sneered at her gaudy dress up, as she covered herself in furs during the summer, and clung to strapping sandals in the winter, clumsily reaching for his shoulder when he’d encountered her. He’d caught the end of her thoughts, as she felt his straining muscles, and the woman thought he’d be open to her _invitations_. She was rather entertaining, if he was honest, the prowling woman reminding him of Blaise’s mother.

  
  
“She enters a honey competition every year,” Hermione admitted, as he combed his fingers through her hair, knowing he was attempting to soothe her. It was working, as she exhaled, the tension melting from her body. She’d been caught up in a flurry of thoughts, and activity as she’d made a hive for the bees, and learned as much as she could about them, after encountering the horrid woman. “She invited us to compete, and -“

  
  
He nipped his laugh, restraining his laughter. “And did she imply we wouldn’t place?”

  
  
“No.” She tugged at his shirt, folding the fabric between her fingers. “That you would,” Hermione said slowly, putting emphasis on the word. “And I wouldn’t.”

  
  
“Hermione,” he started slowly, hard-pressed by his upbringing to remember his manners. He wanted to laugh until he doubled over, with tears in his eyes; something a Malfoy had never, _ever _been seen doing. “Did you buy bees because Mrs. Beaufort insinuated that we wouldn’t be together, in a year?”

  
  
He held her chin in his fingers, unwilling to let her take her wide eyes from him. “I -“

  
  
She started, then stopped; her cheeks flaming prettily.

  
  
“Did you?” he asked again, his lips twitching.

"Yes," she admitted, and he laughed warmly. He held his wife to him, and snogged her soundly; his lips capturing hers as if they were made to do so. And really, he thought, they were. Their bodies fit together as he never had with Pansy's when she'd tried to pull him into a broom closet and snog him. He'd felt little for her, their relationship formed from knowing each other as children, and their family keen on a betrothal.

Merlin help him if he'd ended up with her.

  
  
“Listen to me, wife,” Draco said against her soft lips. “We’re going to set up our beehive, and our little colony, or family, or whatever you muggles call it.” His voice was tender as he caressed her cheek, not letting her move away from him. "Then we'll go to Harrods and buy outfits that will knock the socks off of Mrs. Beaufort when we win first place next year."

  
  
“You aren’t angry?” Hermione asked, breathless as he snogged her again. She traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, teasing him as he let her in. Their tongues tangled together; warmth blooming between the two.

  
  
He smirked as he felt her knees buckle, and he moved his arms to her waist, holding her up. “How could I be angry?” he asked simply. “I adore you, my silly, sweet wife.”

  
  
He didn’t mention that he planned to give Mrs. Beaufort a special drink, one that would see her nose grow to be as roman as Snape’s had been. He knew how proud she was of her appearance; the older, blonde woman often cooing over her portrait displayed at the bank. Malfoys never let their wives go insulted, though he had little plans to off the woman, as his father would have done.

  
  
There _were_ laws he had to follow, albeit reluctantly.

  
  
She hugged him tightly, and he kissed her again, before kissing her cheeks, and the bridge of her nose. “Let’s set up the beehive, no?” he asked, wanting nothing more than to take her to bed after. He ached to see her with child, his thoughts sillier than they’d ever been, with thoughts of seeing her pregnant. He wanted to lock her away in their bedroom, something he'd nearly accomplished after she'd agreed to start trying, and he'd been taking her with all the love he could show her. And she'd been overflowing with feeling, in turn, clinging to him as if she never wanted him to let go.

  
  
“Let’s do it,” Hermione replied, her lips curving upward.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🤠


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was browsing Tumblr the other night and saw a post by ultimatelygrey requesting an omega Draco, and an alpha Hermione fanfic. I have a soft spot for A/B/O stories, though I tend to read stories where the females are omegas, and males are alphas. I wanted to make this a softer pwp, one where I played more with the A/O dynamic, instead of changing them physically. 
> 
> If you've read the past chapters of Honeyed Wiltshire, it's essentially a remix of the plot, with an A/B/O twist! :) 
> 
> I enjoyed writing this immensely, and hope that everyone who reads it enjoys it too. 🦝🖤 It's explicit, yes, but I hope the softness that I intended comes through. Dramione is a pairing that I adore, and imagining their life in Honeyed Wiltshire makes my heart happy. 🌸

“Draco.” He froze, hearing her voice.

His alpha.

“Granger,” Draco said, his voice husky. He smoothed the sheets beneath his fingers before he glanced over his bare shoulder back to her. His heart thudded dully in his chest, as he drank her in. Hermione leaned against the closet door, tugging at her wild curls while she wore a teal jumper and muggle jeans.

“I scented you -,” Hermione started, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. “Out in the garden.” Her petite frame trembled as she stepped forward, sinking down to a crouch amidst his -

_Their_ nest.

He’d pulled clothing down by their hanger and scattered the hangers near the closet door. He’d wanted more clothing, more blankets, more soft and luxurious things as he’d ripped fabric apart with his teeth, and feathers had covered his hair (from throw pillows he’d yanked from their bed). The closet was the safest place for he and his mate, and he’d wanted to make it appealing to her. He’d rolled around in his nest, covering it in his scent, and bathing the fabric with his tongue. Desperation saturated his scent, as his cock throbbed with arousal.

She studied him with her warm, whiskey-colored eyes as she pulled off her jumper and was left in her bra. He swallowed thickly as he watched her move to unclasp it, her firm breasts exposed. She disregarded her nakedness, her breath steady as she crept toward him.

  
  
“I want to help you, Draco,” she said, her lips caressing his name. “Will you let me?” 

“Don’t.”

His thoughts stuttered as he felt her kneel behind him and press her naked chest against his back. He shuddered at the feeling, his instincts screaming at him to submit to her, begging her to let him take her. He wanted to roll on his back and show her his weeping cock, his arousal solely because of her.

  
  
He'd said nothing as he’d felt his heat approach in the previous weeks, nor had his mate brought it up. He’d known she wasn’t blind to his changes, as he clung to her side at night, and rarely left her presence during the day. He’d drank more than normal, and had started feeling restless, pacing when Hermione went in the greenhouse and fretted when she’d wanted to go to town. He’d had an idea of what was happening, and had refused to ask her to help him through it as if she wouldn’t know.

  
  
As if she would deny him, his bleeding heart, Gryffindor.

“You never left when I needed you,” Hermione said softly, kissing his tender gland. He keened when she scraped her teeth against it, the one that bore her beautiful, burning mark. “I won’t leave you, Draco.”

He’d bathed her when she’d suffered from fevers because of the marks Bellatrix had inflicted upon her and sopped her forehead with a washcloth. He’d learned how to bandage her forearm, one that regularly bled, even after he’d asked his godfather’s portrait for help. It was a part of their life that he accepted, the same acceptance expanding to the night terrors they had, and the times they both found themselves thinking back to the horror of the war.

  
  
They were both a little broken, something they both accepted in the other.

  
  
“Leave me,” he tried again, rasping the words.

They slowly laid against the sheets and soft robes, and his heart skipped a beat when she murmured about what a wonderful nest he’d made. It was safe, he knew, as he’d tucked clothing against the carpeted walls, and made it plush enough to keep their young. He wanted her to stay with him where he could keep her safe, and care for her as bred his alpha.

His love.

He whimpered as she cast a wandless spell. The closet door easing closed, and a dim light appeared over their heads. It wasn’t perfect, as he wanted to curl against her side, shielding her from the closed-door; his instincts insisting that he protect her, shelter her, as he’d always should have done. His godfather, Snape, had given him lessons he’d detested; where he’d coached him on how to treat his alpha. “_They’re above you, Draco_,” Snape had said bluntly, ignoring the blonde’s snarls. “_A female alpha controls whether she will let you fuck her, or even consider breeding her. They hold your cock in their hands, Draco, no matter their blood status_.”

She could keep him in abject misery, if she wished, his weeping cock and his aching knot unable to bury within anyone but his mated half. His godfather had taught him how to coddle and cajole, as best as a Slytherin could to wrap their alpha around their finger. “_You won’t survive without her_,” Snape hadn’t spared him in his harshness, and later, Draco had wondered if his godfather knew from experience.

He despised the weakness in himself, the fragility of his designation, and never wanted to remember it. He’d said nothing as classmates around him mated, Theodore Nott and Daphne enchanted with another. It was disgusting to him, unnatural as he remembered the power his father had gloated over his mother

Never the other way around.

“Draco,” her words were firm as she shifted in his hold, hiking her leg over his. She’d taken her jeans off, and the smell of her naked arousal tangled with his. He felt her slick cunt as she pressed it against his clothed erection, and he groaned at the feeling. “No.” There wasn’t an alpha command behind the words, she’d told him she never would make him do anything. She’d blanched before snarling at the thought of it, disgusted as she was by other alphas that encouraged forcing their omegas into submission.

  
  
Really, he should have known.

  
  
She was the know-it-all, stubborn swot that he knew, the one who’d started S.P.E.W. as a child, and had wanted to single-handedly free all the house-elves.

He felt nausea rise in his throat at the thought of taking her. She was too good for him, the curly-haired woman in his arms. The mark on his forearm burned still from the nights he awoke crying over taking it. There were memories that haunted him; his father’s cold tones, his mother’s tears streaking down her face, and all the children that he’d known, the ones he’d helped to kill. He’d stood against the Golden Trio, and it’d meant nothing to him then, except survival. He tried to tell himself that until Hermione named it for what it was.

Survival.

And now, they both knew, he felt remorse.

It was miserable, and it was fucked, and he’d give it up in a second if he didn’t ache with knowing it was right. Hermione said she would help him, though only he could make things right. And she had always been beside him, during his first heat, and every day since. He knew it was selfish, and it was wrong - she should have been with the Weasel, or St. Potter. She should be with someone who deserved her, someone who didn’t love her with a sullied heart -

Hermione kissed him then, her lips hungrily finding his.

She looped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer against her. She moved slowly enough where he could have pushed her away if he wanted -

“Please,” he whispered, his tongue licking the seam of her lips. He cherished the taste of raspberries that clung to her skin and knew she had been in the garden before she’d found him. He lapped at her lips before they parted, and her tongue snaked out to find his. Languidly their tongues entwined as if they wanted to do nothing but kiss one another and taste their desires.

She rolled her hips against his, and he groaned as he felt the blessed heat of her cunt. “Trust me, Draco,” she murmured, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into her depths. His hand moved to grip her hip, his fingers digging into her soft skin. He knew he would leave fingerprints behind and purred at the thought of having her marked as his.

It would be his knot that would tie her to him, his seed that would fill her fertile womb; thoughts that made himself harden impossibly so. He tugged his boxers down and felt his naked cock against her wet folds. He moaned as he rocked his hips, easing his cock inside of her. Her folds parted about his cock and clasped around his shaft, covering him in her warm, wet nectar. There was nothing that he wanted more than that; no one more than he wanted more than her.

“I want you,” Draco said, his voice thick with desire. He felt his body burning for her, and tasted sweat as it rolled down his temple, and dripped on his lips. He was aching and needy for her and clung to her so nothing could come between them. She cried out as he sank into her without warning, snapping his hips against hers. “Just you, a-alpha” he choked on the word, always having grown up believing he would hear the word himself.

“Hermione,” he begged, “Hermione, please -“

“Shh,” she whispered, licking his cheek with the flat of her tongue. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

She rocked her body against his, every thrust of her hips sending him deeper inside her. She worked him as if he were a steed; driving him in and out of her, as her leg rested against his hip. He was in paradise as he felt her cunt squeezing his cock, a silky vice that he never wanted to let go of.

She was perfection incarnate, and as her curls streamed about them, she peppered his face with kisses. His hand moved to her clit, feeling the sopping apex of her pubic hair. He wanted to bring her body alight with searing fire, the same as he felt. “You’re beautiful,” he crooned, and he knew that she heard him when her cheeks flamed pink.

He loved to tease her, often burying his face between her legs when she was asleep and forced her to wake up by orgasming against his mouth. Other times he would stimulate her after she came, his touch unrelenting as he drove his fingers into her cunt and listened to her lewdly squelch about his fingers. There was nothing more glorious, or more sacred to him than when she broke because of him.

He knew, ever since he’d made the choice to abandon his family and accompany the Golden Trio that his fate was inevitably tied to hers. Perhaps it always had been, as he caught the scent of her in the hallways and watched through narrowed eyes as other omegas approached her. He’d heard from Theo that Pansy, of all people, had approached her seeking help during her heat. It sounded ridiculous, the daughter of a known Death Eater, approaching one of the Golden Trio for help - yet it was true.  
  
“_Did she laugh at her, mate_?” Blaise had asked, and Theo had lowered his voice, confiding that Hermione had given Pansy muggle devices and coached her on how to use them. They’d heard silence from Pansy’s room for weeks after, the silencing charm enforced, and a teasing smile on her face when she met them for breakfast.

Draco had vomited before bed, thoughts of Hermione helping others dancing in his head until he’d taken two vials of Dreamless Sleep. He’d been burning with something he didn’t want to name - something he couldn’t name, until the onset of his heat, while they were on the run.

He’d awoken in his sleeping bag with sweat streaming down his cheeks, and an unbearable ache inside. He needed to burrow himself inside an alpha, he wanted to burrow and nest, and -

Hermione had crawled from her sleeping bag, to be next to him.

“Draco,” she’d said, her eyes so dark they were smoldering. He’d felt her name rise to his tongue, only he’d said what he’d dreamed of saying, instead.

“Alpha,” he’d hissed, and they’d both been moved by instinct. Hermione stripped off her ragged jumper, while he shed his clothes and started to make a nest from them. She’d praised him while he moved, fluffing her dirty clothing, and panting as his cock was unbearably hard between his legs. “I need you -“ he’d choked, and she’d taken him into her arms, and guided his face to her breast. “I need to fuck you, please -“

He’d felt like he was dying, his insides coiled and burning as he yanked at his hair. He needed to be buried inside her and feel her body tremble and shudder against his. He didn’t realize that he’d drawn blood from his palms with his jagged fingernails until she’d held his hands, and licked away his blood. She'd ignored his protests, taking his fingers into her wet mouth, and sucked on his fingers until he whimpered with desire. 

“I’ll take care of you,” she’d promised him, and she had. He’d felt no shame as he suckled from her breast, and she’d praised him. She’d run her fingers through his hair and whispered everything he’d always wanted to hear from her. She was his, and he was hers.

They’d become a mess of bodies, their limbs entwining, and their thoughts coming as one. He’d been stunned to find that she was a virgin, the same as he was, though she knew what he needed. He’d been nearly black with jealousy as he demanded to know if she’d helped another, with her hands or her mouth, and she’d promised him that she hadn’t. “_I bought the others sex toys_,” she’d whispered to him, as she kissed his brow, and ran her tongue over his raw gland. “_Muggle devices, that I charmed to adapt to their needs. No one should have to depend on an alpha_ -“ she’d looked away until he’d forced her to meet his eyes again. “_Or an omega_.”

He'd realized later that she’d suffered the same as he had.

She’d known of their connection, how could she not? The girl that he’d bullied ever since he’d considered her beneath him (he sneered at his father’s teaching now, and wanted to tear the man from limb to limb) was the one meant for him. Their Amorentia was the scent of the other, and both had suffered, as he learned she’d taken her virgin rut alone. She’d had offers from other omegas; Neville and Harry and Pansy, even from other alphas, as she’d confessed Luna Lovegood and Blaise had asked her if she’d take her ruts with them. There were ways that alphas that could take one another, and even more ways that they could mate, though it would never be the same as an alpha with their intended omega.

“You’re such a good boy,” Hermione cooed as he mercilessly teased her clit. He’d learned what made his mate moan and wanted nothing more than to please her. He was devoted to her in ways that would have made his family ashamed; never far from her throughout the day, and his thoughts always centered around her. “Such a good, pretty boy, Draco.”

He felt his gland often, relishing the mark of her teeth, as she’d claimed him the first time they’d fucked. He’d wept with relief after he’d fucked her during his first heat and felt an untold ecstasy when she made him her own. 

“You’re mine,” she’d told him, and he’d relished her words, almost as much as he reveled in her mark. His gland had healed to a pink, jagged scar that made him think of her when he touched it. She’d bitten him too, on the inside of his wrist, where another of his scent glands was.

He relished them still.

He came out of his thoughts as he moved to straddle her, folding her body firmly beneath him. “I want to watch as I knot you,” he murmured and looked down at where his cock was inside her. She was perfect for him, more than anyone he thought he would ever have. Her cunt dripped in sweet nectar, and he dragged his fingers through it, before bringing it up to her lips. “Suck,” he whispered, and she never broke their shared gaze as she suckled on his fingers, lewdly wrapping her tongue about his trembling digits.

He took her with abandon, meeting her thrust for thrust as he drove himself into her. He watched with delight as her breasts bounced, and his cock slid in and out of her. His knot was swelling with excitement, as pre-cum began to drip from his tip, and he knew that his desire to breed her would start in earnest. She tweaked his nipple as he toyed with her clit, and caressed his ribcage, knowing how her touch inflamed him. “Draco,” she keened, “I’m -“

“Not yet,” he pled, his icy control slipping from his tone. He wanted them to cum together, their release mingling into one before he knotted her. He wanted her to accept his offering; just as he dreamed of her stomach curving and filling with life. He leaned forward and groaned as he sank further into her. She struggled beneath him, keening at the sensation before he caught her lips with his.

He kissed her harshly, the same way he had the first few months they’d been together. They’d hidden away from the aftermath of the war and founded a life together on their small farm. Yet he hesitated to touch her, often surprised when she reached out to him. It was more than being a Gryffindor, as he’d first assumed, and scoffed when she’d told him he was wrong. “I never touch people like this,” she corrected him, holding his large hand in hers. “They never meant something before…not like this.”

And he’d realized she was right, as they came together, more and more.

He adored having her in his bed and spending the nights cuddling together before waking up by her side. He learned what made her arch against him, and what made her scream his name while she tugged at his hair until he thought it would come out by the roots. He adored every moment with her, despite the shame in his heart about his designation, and he wanted a child with her. More than one, if he had his way, as he felt he’d always adore the sight of her blooming from pregnancy with a toddler on her hip, and a book in the other hand. He wanted nothing more than to share his life with her and make her feel proud of accepting him as her mate.

He suckled on her bottom lip and smiled as she squealed his name. His hand crept up to her breast and tweaked her nipple before sharply pinching the rosy bud. He knew that her breasts were sensitive and that she loved attention to them, though her cheeks turned scarlet with shyness. She was so, so, shy at times, he’d learned. The same as she could be vocal and uncaring of her responses at other times.

Their tongues tangled together again, as he pleasured her breasts, and snapped his hips against hers. He felt her cunt as it trembled with the onslaught of her release, just as he felt his knot beginning to swell within her. Their breath came in raspy pants as their pleasure built, and her arms wrapped about his shoulders, pressing him closer to her. “Please, Draco,” she whispered. “Please, please, please -“

  
  
“Yes,” he hissed.

  
  
He wanted all of her, and more, pleasuring her as if he was made for nothing else.

And then they were cumming, their releases flooding from them. The sheets beneath them were stained in their cum as it ran from her thighs, and she squirmed beneath him as his hand returned to her clit, pleasuring the overstimulated bundle of nerves. “It hurts,” she gasped, and he purred, rubbing his cheeks against hers.

“Please, alpha,” he crooned, “Let me have you.”

Her hands scrabbled at his back as he pumped ropes of seed inside of her, warm and sticky. His knot filled her entirely, keeping their releases plugged inside of her as he was determined to make her cum at least two more times. She was subject to his teasing, and his fucking as he kissed her lips, and played with her lithe body. She was bursting with life, clutching him to her as if he'd ever let her go. The Malfoys took care of their own, and she was his mate, his wife, the only one he'd ever thought of standing beside. 

“Gorgeous,” he whispered. “You’re gorgeous, Hermione.”

He treasured as she fell apart beneath him, breathless with his name on her lips. “Such a good omega,” she panted, before peppering his cheeks with kisses, and licked his jawline. He wanted to be coated in her scent, letting the world know that he belonged beside her. “The only one who can make me feel this way.”

He moved again, pulling her to lay on her side with him.

They faced each other, their chests touching, and their gazes unwavering. “You’re mine,” Draco said, and raised his soaking hand to cup her cheek. “Say you’re mine, little one.”

He didn’t want to beg, though his voice came out as a whine toward the end. He wanted her to revel in being his mate, his partner, the only one who could bring him to his knees making a nest for them.

_Please, please, please_.

There was a knot in his heart, one that wound tautly about her name. He knew he could never let her go, he would be lost without her and wanted nothing more than for her to say the same. He was a little boy lost, the disgraced heir that'd been forced into a life he hadn't wanted, and he'd had no control over what he wanted. Not until he'd chosen to stay with Hermione, had he made his life his own, and he clung to her; his beautiful freedom. 

“I’m yours,” Hermione promised, and rubbed her nose against his. She was fond of Eskimo kisses, a silly muggle thing that Draco had learned he adored from her. “And you’re mine, Draco.”

She laughed then; a breathy sated laugh that made him purr.

“I don’t think we’ll ever let each other go.”

“Never,” he swore. “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Jelly! 🤠


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, I can't stay away from this story...😅
> 
> I'm weak for soft and sweet dramione. Thank you again, Terry, for requesting a story where Hermione is shown the appreciation she deserves, and for niizumachi's idea of a reluctantly omega Draco, paired with his alpha, Hermione. 
> 
> And thank you for all the sweet, wonderful comments I've received on my work and all of your support! I'm a handful of views away from 60,000 views and can't believe it. I'm truly humbled by your support, and how much my work means to some people. It's more than I could ever imagine. 🌸🖤

"Oh darling," Hermione panted, faltering against her mate. His heat had crested over several days, with the two of them burrowed away in the closet, lost in a constant cycle of fucking, before falling asleep with his knot inside of her. They had few moments of clarity, where they stumbled into the kitchen, just long enough to refill Merlin's automatic feeder and snack on nuts and berries.

  
  
Hermione had insisted on bathing, and he’d rattled the doorknob, impatient for his alpha to be at his side again, and safe in their nest. His instincts screamed to protect her, and he feared what could happen with her out of his sight, irrational or not. He’d paced in the hallway until he’d decided to fling open the door, and join her in the shower; where they’d fucked again, before he’d tenderly made love to her, holding her beneath the water, and covering her flushed cheeks with kisses. He dreaded the shower washing away their scents, and he was happy to coat her in it again, laving his tongue over her gland, and making her keen with delight.

He'd toweled her off after and insisted on brushing her hair himself; purring as he plaited her hair back, knowing how knotted it became when they fucked. She'd laughed and combed her fingers through his hair, in turn, giggling at how messy it was. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?” he’d said, and she’d agreed, her face bright with happiness.

He'd carried her like a bride back to their nest, purring as he laid her amidst the sheets, and mussed clothing. He fluffed them around her, anxious that she approved of their nest - he didn't shy away from thinking that now, lost as he was in his heat and their tangled pheromones. Hermione murmured words of encouragement all the while, and stretched her arms overhead, yawning in contentment. He felt his heat cresting again and soon captured her lips with his while shielding her body with his own.

  
She was so, so small beneath him, and he felt her tremble as she wrapped her arms around him. "I love you, Draco" she murmured, and he knew it was true. It was never his designation with her, he never felt like they were merely playing roles, whether they were making love or fucking. And he wanted to take her, he realized, whether she was his alpha or not. She could have been a beta or another omega, and he would have wanted her more than any other.

Soon they were a mess of flesh and muffled pants as they came together.

He was embedded in her silky cunt, his cock like steel as he embraced her. He wanted all of her, without end, and begged her to tell him that she belonged to him.

"Yours, Draco," she swore and abandoned snogging him to suckle on his gland instead. He shuddered at the feeling, knowing that she delighted in possessing him, just as he wanted her. No one could have pleased him as she did, his brief flings with Pansy never extending beyond snogging in the broom closet and a handful of dates with Astoria. She was the one his parents had intended for him to mate, and he'd felt cold even then, at the thought of a future with someone who wasn't bushy-haired, and just as intelligent, perhaps more so, than him.

"It's always been you," he whispered, his cheeks flushing at his tender tone. He'd never imagined being open with someone as he was with his mate and marveled at how he'd changed. It was all because of her, ever since he'd seen her bleeding out on the Manor floor, and felt his heartbreaking in his chest. He hadn't protected her then, not as he should have, and felt shame roll in his stomach. "Just you, Hermione."

  
  
She cupped his cheek in her hand, and kissed his cupid’s bow, before licking at the seam of his lips. She knew how his moods turned, and never made him feel ashamed of how he’d suffered during the war. Everyone had, she’d told him once, and he’d thought she meant that he’d had no reason to complain. He knew that others had suffered, worse than he had, the sight of the weeping Weasleys doing something to him more than he’d like to admit. But no, she’d corrected him, he had a right to grieve.

  
  
“_You didn’t have a choice, darling_,” she’d said, her eyes earnestly meeting his. “_You wanted to protect your parents, and knew no other way - I would have done the same_,” she admitted, “_if I’d been in your place_.”

  
  
As it was, he knew what she’d done to protect her parents, and he ached with determination to bring her parents back to her. She’d shied away from the topic, ever since he’d found a missive from Kingsley discussing the topic. She'd done something illegal, casting the memory charms, and the Ministry couldn't help her - not officially. Kingsley hinted that he would turn a blind eye if Potter helped her, in his role as Auror, but as the Minister, he could do nothing to help her personally. Hermione hadn't told him, though she'd spent nights weeping on his shoulder, without saying why. He knew her parents meant the world to her, and wanted to bring them into their lives if he could.

  
It was something he would handle after his heat was done.

He wrapped his legs around hers, pulling her firmly against him. Their bodies were meant to fit together, hers soft where he was hard and angular. He relished the scent of her, with sweat rolling down her cheek and the stain of his scent on her skin. He wanted her beneath him always, whimpering his name, and combing her fingers through his hair or scraping her nails over his shoulders. He loved the marks she made on him, never letting her heal them.

"My life is with you," he promised her and allowed her tongue into his mouth. Their tongues danced together, a struggle for control before she conceded, and he smirked against her mouth. They kissed together, languidly, as if his heat would never end, and time would always be centered around them. Moments like this were his favorite when desire danced in his belly, and he thrust inside her.

  
  
She was his life, his home, and he’d never let her go.

  
  
“Oh, Draco -“

  
  
She arched against him, and he felt a flicker of pride as she came undone. Her cunt spasmed around his cock, as she found her release, and he felt the familiar wash of her cum against his shaft. He wanted to paint his body with her release, letting it seep into his skin until the entire world knew that she was his, and he was hers. He’d buried his fingers in her cunt before, coating his fingers in her cum, and brought them to his lips. She’d blushed bright red as he suckled on his fingers, adoring the taste of her cum, before snogging her soundly. She’d welcomed the taste of herself on his lips, never refusing him as he found his way inside of her again.

  
  
It was something he wanted to do again, as he too, found his release. Sticky ropes of cum burst from his cock and coated the inside of her thoroughly. He wanted a life together with her always, his heart swelling in his chest at the thought of her blooming with pregnancy. It hadn’t happened the first time he’d experienced a heat; he’d watched her in the weeks after, and nothing had come of it. She’d admitted that she’d wanted something to happen too, as untimely as it was, and confessed that her periods hadn’t been regular since the war began. He understood without her saying that she’d been under enormous stress, keeping the others of the trio alive, and he’d sneered at Potter and Weasley. He knew that they were more than her friends, a bond between them that he would never understand, and knew that it would never end. They meant more to her than Crabbe or Goyle had ever meant to him, and she cared for them more than he’d ever see someone care for another, who was only their friend.

  
  
Nothing more had happened, she’d told him, and he’d believed her when she said the Golden Trio were only friends. She’d had a brief crush on Weasley, yes, but nothing had come of it, and she thought of Potter as a brother. He rubbed his cheek against hers and kissed her lips sweetly. His knot was swelling inside her, a familiar motion that remained thrilling for both of them. He believed her, he did, though he wanted to be the friend that she relied on, and the presence that she craved. He had no need for another, though he still Owl'd with Theo and Blaise on occasion, and Pansy too.

  
It wasn't the same as the bond he had with Hermione. He needed her the same as he needed air and wanted her the same as he wanted to create potions or have Merlin eat treats from his hand, as he did with Hermione. "I love you," he said, and she smiled, a purr emanating from her.

  
  
“I love you too,” she said, her voice thick with feeling. “So much, Draco.”

  
He rolled on his side, bringing her with him as he curled against her back. He loved the moments after he'd fucked her when his heat relaxed to a gentle warmth, and he could bury his face against her neck. He kissed and nipped at her gland, teasing the skin between his teeth. It wasn’t common for alphas to allow their omegas to mark them in turn, though when had Hermione ever been normal?

He couldn’t mark her as she’d marked him, nothing he imprinted on her would last forever, and he was happy to refresh it, again and again. She wore his mark with pride, rarely letting her hair cover the right side of her neck, and he adored the sight of it. His favorite picture rested on his nightstand, one when they were freshly mated, and watching the sunset at the Burrow. She’d been tucked against his side, wearing a jumper that the Weasley matriarch had made her, and he’d been wearing one in turn (amazingly so). She turned her head, smiling as Ginny snapped the picture, and he saw the marks he made on her neck.

  
  
“There will never be another for me,” Draco cooed, licking at her jawline. He ran the flat of his tongue over her skin, tasting beads of sweat from their exertion. “You’ve ruined me, little one.”

Hermione whispered his name, devotion in her voice as she nestled back against him. "I want a family with you," she confessed, and he felt a thrill of happiness. He'd wondered, of course, despite her confessions after the first time they'd been together. He knew that she cast a contraception charm the other times they made love, though they both had agreed to keep a room of the cottage empty; both of them knowing what it would be.

  
  
“Do you think -“ he swallowed and moved his hand to her flat stomach. He could feel his knot protruding within her, and she moaned as he rolled his hips against hers. His fingers spread against her stomach, and he massaged the skin there; reveling at how soft, and tender she was. “Do you think it took, this time?”

  
  
“It could have,” she said thoughtfully.

They both knew that he'd insisted on making her cum, multiple times after he knotted her. There was an increased chance of her conceiving every time she came on his cock, and his knot trapped the fluids inside her. His instincts wanted her on all fours, with his cock buried inside her, and her stomach swollen with his child. He wanted a plethora of them if she'd allow it; enough for their own Quidditch team, though he'd always sneered at the size of the Weasley family. It made him shudder to imagine the elder Weasleys together, but he understood then, how children could be conceived in love.

  
It was a change from his parents, who'd had an arranged mating, and had never desired another child but him. It was a fact his mother had been open about, as she'd prided herself on how strong, and intelligent he was. There was no need for a spare, she'd said lightly, and he'd felt the weight of his inheritance on his shoulders, even as a young child. It was a legacy that he wouldn't pass on to his children, and he knew he would treasure them, even if they were magicless squibs. He didn't want an heir and a spare, no, he wanted a family, even if that meant his hair was always sticking up, and he carried his wand in a diaper bag.

  
  
“Would you be happy,_ alpha_?” he teased, nipping at her ear. He tasted the sweetness of her flesh, rolling her earlobe between his teeth, as he gently pulled on it. She shivered against him, and he smirked as he felt a rush of wetness on his cock. “If you were swollen with my child, and the world knew you were mine?” his free hand found her naked breast, and he fondled it firmly. He’d had dreams of her with her breasts filled with milk, and he resting in her lap, suckling from her as the besotted man that he was. “That I’d made you filthy, and bred you like the good girl that you are?”

  
  
She moaned at his teasing, and nipped at her lip, before nodding her head shyly. “I’d love it,” she said, her voice breathy from the image. She wanted it more than her mate knew, though he felt through their mating bond, the shivers of pleasure she felt. “You make me - oh - you make me complete, Draco.”

His heart beat faster at her words, and he busied himself with lapping at her ear. She keened at the feeling, and he knew he'd be fucking her again, easing his knot in and out of her, and feeling her cunt stress desperately about his cock. He didn't think he'd ever stop wanting her or reveling in the feel of her against her. There was always a downturn of his mood when he slipped out of her, and his heat crested; he wanted it to last forever, with the feeling of his shame at his designation pushed away.

  
  
There was no shame with Hermione, the girl that was made for him, and he for her.  
  


* * *

  
  
In the morning, Draco awoke to sunlight streaming into the closet.

  
  
He squinted, pressing his hands against his face, before peeking through his fingers. The closet door was wide open, and his mate wasn’t beside him -  
He sniffed the smell of bacon and eggs in the air.

  
  
“Hermione,” he scolded, having left the closet in search of her. He found her in the kitchen, wearing only one of his white shirts, that ended just above her thighs. He spanked her bottom, and she jolted from her thoughts, exclaiming at the naked sight of him. “Why did you leave?”

  
His heat had crested, slowly coming to an end the night before, when he'd taken her tenderly. He'd murmured how much he loved her as he filled her with his seed, and loved the sight of her beneath him, with her curls streaming around her, as if she were a siren he'd captured. They'd come together in a rush of words, and expressions of love and he'd slept on top of her (as she'd told him she loved the feel of his body against hers).

  
  
“I thought you’d be hungry,” she explained, sheepishly. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder, watching as she cooked. She pushed the eggs around in the pan, turning the heat down as they turned into fluffy, scrambled pieces.

  
  
“I am,” he purred, “but only for you.”

  
Her blush deepened at that, and she nipped at her lip.

  
  
Her expression was the same as when he’d been young, and the house-elves had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “What is it, love?” he asked.

  
  
She inhaled, before relaxing as he massaged her backside.

  
"My scent changed," she whispered. "This morning when I - when I woke up - I thought it was just because of our intimacy but…"

  
  
Her hands found his and moved them to her stomach.

  
  
“I’m pregnant,” she said, and he stood frozen against her before -

  
  
He exclaimed in shock and demanded if she was sure. “I am, Draco,” Hermione said, her lips curving into a smile. “I am! I Floo’d Luna, and she said my scent could change immediately -”

  
  
He spun her around then, breakfast be damned, and held her tightly against him. He hardly knew what to think, or what to say, and realized his body had replied for him; his chest vibrating with loud purring, and his hardness pressed against her hip. "You're excited then?" Hermione teased, and he threw his head back and laughed.

  
  
“Happy?” he choked, “I’m ecstatic!”

  
It was a future he would have never imagined, not as the prat he'd been as a child or the teenager he'd been when he was thrust into war. He hadn't lived until he left with the Golden Trio, and shoved his loathsome prejudice aside. The nights filled with terror and burnt meals, when he’d cuddled against Hermione, and let her in had been the best of his life.

  
  
Even after the war, he’d never thought she’d agree to come with him, living away from the wizarding world in their sweet cottage. He’d known they were mates, her mark on his neck, yet had been plagued with doubts, until she’d confided that nothing would make her happier, than being with him.

  
  
“_I don’t want to be the Minister of Magic_, _or to teach at Hogwarts_,” she’d told him. “_I want a life with you and a family. I can write books in the country, and study magical theory while helping you with potions_ -“ and he’d interrupted her.

  
  
“_With a library too_,” he’d teased, and she’d nodded without shame.

  
  
He wanted to give her a library that rivaled the Malfoy Manor, or the one at Hogwarts, one that she would want anything from. He wanted her to be happy and would give her anything to ensure that she was, though she’d told him she wanted nothing but him.

  
  
Words that he was slowly realizing was true - she’d meant them, she always had.

  
  
“Our Quidditch team,” he said, and she laughed, a pure, ringing sound of joy. She wanted a child just as much as he did and had nearly fainted when Luna had told her that her scent hadn’t lied. “Our Quidditch team,” she agreed, before kissing the tip of his nose. “Though you’ll never see me on a broom.”

  
  
“We’ll see,” he replied, and they both knew he’d have his way, someday.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by André, thank you! 🦝🖤


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, no, I can't stay away from this story. 
> 
> Secondly, the arachnids are a reference to corvusdraconis' works! They always include adorable, magical arachnids in their stories. If anyone like Severus x Hermione, you should read their stories - they're honestly amazing, creative, and relatively low on angst. I adore their work, and binged re-reading it while I've been on bed rest! 💜💜
> 
> I apologize for not uploading more often lately, I became behind on things after my cysts flared up. I have PCOS and it can be really painful sometimes, making me stay on bed rest, and become behind on things (like college). I uploaded two drabbles today, and I'm happy to upload this chapter too!
> 
> Thirdly, I think it's agreed throughout the fandom that Draco would be *weak* for Hermione as a mum! I actually think she'd be a wonderful mother, someone who always knew the answers to questions, and was willing to be 200% extra on school projects. Draco would be a sweetie too, much softer on his children than Lucius was with him. 
> 
> I thought since omega females are so fertile, why wouldn't a male omega be too? I hope none of it seemed like non-con, Hermione and Draco are in a very loving, and trusting relationship in Honeyed Wiltshire. :) 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! I love how supportive you all are, and sweet too. Your comments, bookmarks, kudos, and DM's on Tumblr/Discord are everything. 🦝🖤

Draco had once thought of love as a lesser thing, a trait of marriages between muggle-born and half-bloods. It wasn’t for purebloods, no, love had no place beside meticulously planned betrothals, and social ambitions.

  
  
What a fool he’d been for agreeing with them.

  
  
Draco held himself above his panting wife, his hands splayed on either side of her.

  
  
“Draco- Draco, _please_” Hermione whined, shivering as she felt a familiar warmth on her breast. She wound her fingers through his platinum hair and tugged at the ends as he covered her breasts in nips and kisses. “I can’t -“

  
  
“Mhm,” Draco teased, his tongue circling her darkened nipple. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”

  
  
Her body had grown increasingly sensitive as her pregnancy progressed; her husband unhampered by the rounding of her stomach. He often spooned her from behind, drawing his hand between her thighs, and slowly eased his fingers in and out of her, until she rutted against him completely.

  
  
She’d mewl with pleasure, adoring the feel of his fingers, and cresting when he sank his canines into her marked gland. He continually reveled at the sight of his mark upon her, hardly believing that she'd allowed him in her life, and by her side. He often wondered if he'd wake from a dream of his life with her and knew that he would weep if he found it wasn't true.

  
  
He’d come to need Hermione, more than he’d ever thought possible.

  
  
He was reluctant to be apart from her, often driving her to distraction by his focus on keeping her in the closet. She’d laughed when she found he’d moved their clothing from the closet, charming it so the fabric wouldn’t wrinkle, before moving their clothes into drawers instead. Draco was proud of the nest he’d made and purred that he adored nothing more than keeping her inside it. It was more than pillow talk, as he became enamored with the idea; his instincts screaming at him to protect her, his vulnerable mate.

  
  
The man might know that his mate was a powerful witch, and apt with wandless spells, but the wolf was heedless of her abilities. It wanted her safe and tucked in his arms, demanding that he nourish her, and protect the pups growing inside her. _Pups_ \- they hadn't asked their healer to tell them how many they were having yet, but his instincts told him there was more than one inside her.

  
  
Gods.

  
  
Having her in his nest had appealed both the man and the wolf all the more, and he’d come to fondly regard the idea. He’d pulled the blankets about her waist, and rested his head on the pillow beside her, before raising his eyebrow, waiting for her protest.

And he'd had them, his little know-it-all, who always feared their domestic life would fall apart around their ears if she wasn't running herself into a frenzy.

  
  
“_Merlin needs feeding_ -“

  
  
“_Automatic feeder_,” Draco replied, before kissing her knitted brow.

  
  
“_I need to work, Draco_ -“ she’d argued, and he’d smirked. “_I happen to know your boss would let you have the day off,_" he'd said, both of them being the co-owner of their flourishing potion business. Their farm too had continued to take off; the addition of honey-based products making the county mad for them. Hermione had sent a bundle of honey off to Hogwarts, where Neville was currently working with Hagrid (who'd survived the war with only a scar across his face, one that Minerva declared made him look like "a wee rogue") on breeding an eco-friendly, magical arachnid. They'd found the arachnid was attracted to eating the pests that plagued the Hogwarts gardens, seemingly accepting any sort of pest - though the spiders weren't as accepting as their male counterpart, the females attacking the males on sight.

  
  
Apparently, all had changed, however, when the arachnids had invaded the package, she’d sent Neville, and chewed their way into the honey jars; effectively dousing themselves in the rich honey. It’d begun a mating frenzy, one that resulted in Hagrid being over the moon, having never stopped missing Aragog. Neither Draco nor Hermione had replied yet to Hagrid's letter, offering them an arachnid youngling or two (Luna and Neville had adopted a pair, naming them Charlotte and Wilbur).

  
  
“_And the day after that_.” Draco had added, turning his sweet wife’s thoughts from crazed arachnids, to the feel of his lips as he kissed her knuckles. He was far from his father, who’d loathed to willingly touch his mother after they’d had an heir. He couldn't imagine leaving Hermione alone, and nor, it seemed, could she. It was little touches from Hermione, he found, made his heart quicken; times when she was reading and would lay her head against his shoulder, or entwined her hand with his while they ate dinner. And as her pregnancy continued, she often asked him to zip the back of her dress or rub her sore feet after 'escaping' the nest and spent the day working.

She'd been rife with nausea at the beginning, and Draco had constantly brewed anti-nausea potions for her. He'd anxiously taken her tea and crackers too, having been directed by a kindly old lady at the grocery store, which were the best kinds for her to take. As her pregnancy continued, nausea had lifted, though Draco insisted on making her tea still; both of them laughing when Merlin had tried it (Draco making her a fresh cup after).

“_Don’t let Pipsy hear_,” Hermione told him when she'd conceded to nesting with him. He'd chuckled, before wagging his eyebrows at her.

  
  
“_Wizard, remember love_?”

  
He'd silenced their bedroom well with a silencing charm, before adding wards that would refuse the house-elf entry, knowing full well she'd never even try their door. There'd been plenty of house-elves displaced after the war, their owners sentenced to Azkaban, and their fortunes dispersed. The Ministry had given little thought to the hordes of house-elves that had lost their owners, turning a blind eye to the situation, until Daphne Greengrass had gotten wind of it.

  
Daphne and her sister, Astoria, had sheltered the house-elves at one of their country estates and called on their friends to adopt them. Draco had kept the situation from his wife, knowing her failed attempts at freeing the elves during their school days, before inviting Daphne over. And if Daphne had brought another guest with her, a house-elf that wore a crisp pillowcase, and had woeful eyes, that was of little matter.

  
  
Hermione had taken one look at Pipsy before the house-elf had launched herself at his wife and squealed in excitement how happy she was to have a mistress to serve. (Draco had met Daphne's knowing gaze, before his lips quirked in a very _Slytherin_ smile). “_You’ll take her then_?” Daphne asked. “_Pipsy wants nothing more than to have a family.”_

  
  
“_Please, Mistress Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy_!” Pipsy had cried, before clasping her hands together. “_Pipsy will be very, very good -“_

  
  
“_I_ -“ Hermione had flushed, replies faltering on her lips.

  
  
“_You wouldn’t say no to a house-elf, would you, wife_?” Draco had teased, and Hermione had pursed her lips, knowing she’d been outmaneuvered by the pair of Slytherins. Her curls crackled, as sentient as ever when it came to her moods. It did give a house-elf a home though, one where she wouldn’t be mistreated…

  
  
Pipsy had stayed with them since then and had treated Merlin as if he were her own charge. She scolded him fiercely when he jumped on the counters, spraying him with a bottle of water, before coaxing him to play with her instead. She gave him baths too, and it helped that his claws couldn’t go through her skin. She’d been crestfallen when Draco insisted on making tea himself, and Hermione hadn’t wanted her help when bathing (Pipsy arguing that surely Mistress Malfoy would like a warmed towel or someone to comb her hair afterward - Master Draco had laughed and brushed Pipsy aside, declaring it was his job to do) but was satisfied when she was allowed to launder clothes, something neither of her owners had time to do and took pride in waxing the floors until they gleamed. She helped with the gardens too, though her owners had quickly found she was terrified of bees; covering her ears and screeching when they flew near.

  
  
Most of all, Pipsy was pleased by the fact that her owners clearly loved each other and kept the magic of their house in order. She’d known from other, older elves when their owners were unhappy that the entire magic surrounding their estates and their family was filled with discord. It could quickly become like an orchestra playing out of tune; a clashing of notes that made for a sea of disharmony, no matter how the elves tried to fix it.

  
  
Hermione, though, wasn’t one for Pipsy seeing their, well, snogging or anything else along those lines. She’d been mortified for days after Pipsy had appeared in the kitchen, asking if Hermione needed help with dinner, and caught her beneath Draco on the kitchen table.

  
  
"Oh!" Hermione whined as his teeth caught her nipple, and milk leaked into his mouth. Catching her unaware was one of his favorite things to do, as he felt her body arch up against his. His tongue lapped at her nipple before he drew downward, peppering kisses across her abdomen toward the dip of her pelvis. "N-No, don't stop," she said, rolling her hips against him.

  
  
He smiled wolfishly, before licking a long, hot stripe against her slit. "I thought so," he murmured, and curled his arms around her thighs, spreading them apart. She was so small beneath him, apart of him intently aware of the closed closet door behind them, and the wards that guarded the room. She was protected there, in the nest, where he could lick her from her quivering quim to her pert bottom. He wanted to lavish her in his scent, marking her as his, while the _noises_ -

  
  
The noises she made caused him to harden, and he groaned in delight.

  
  
He was glad he only had to share her with their house-elf and Merlin, wanting nothing more than to bundle her up against him and keep her from the world. He hadn't been able to shelter her during the war, no, but he could love her now.

  
  
Openly, freely -

  
  
_Safely_.

He wanted to keep her safe, as he burrowed his head between her thighs, and began to lave his tongue against her clit. He knew how she liked to be touched and felt her moan his name as he took her hood into his mouth. He suckled on it gently, tasting the inviting, musky aroma of her. It made him feel alive, making her writhe against him, and whimper as he pleasured her.

  
  
He’d kept his head between her legs for countless hours before, bringing her to the brink before stopping, and letting her tug at his hair by the roots. She made a beautiful picture as she keened his name and begged to orgasm, as he edged her mercilessly. She knew how he longed for control, despite their differences in designation. There were times when he wanted to use her, burying himself inside her and forget about the world, though he never forgot about her. She was imprinted on his skin and had claimed his heart as her own.

  
  
He willingly bathed his face in her slick, swallowing her release as it trickled from her cunt. He didn’t edge her then, knowing how sensitive and wanting she was. She rocked her hips against his mouth, pressing his head closer against her cunt, and hissed when he released her puffy hood. His tongue parted her folds instead, toying with her pretty pearl. “D-Draco,” she breathed.

"Wife," he murmured, his voice lost amongst her folds. He wanted to drown her in pleasure and suckled earnestly on her pearl, in-between laving at it with his greedy tongue. He held her thighs apart with his hands, preventing her from tangling them about his head, and smirked as she growled. She could play as roughly as he did, though he was intensely careful about not hurting her. She'd been sensitive to penetration, and preferred his fingers or his mouth instead, though she adored him thrusting between her thighs, and spurting his release on her stomach and her breasts. He'd clean her afterward, licking at her skin as if she were a sweet treat.

  
  
And she was, he’d told her. “You’re mine, little wife.”

  
  
She bucked beneath him as she came, screaming his name. Hot cum came from her, cumming without restraint under his attentions. He wanted it all, swallowing mouthfuls of her release as she came in his mouth, and he ran his tongue over her swollen, wet folds. It was everything he wanted, and more as she was his home.

  
  
“Draco, _oh_, Draco -“

  
  
She tugged his head up and he came to her, the same as if he were a lost soul drawn to laughter. “Draco,” she whispered, before snogging him soundly; regardless of his glistening chin, or her taste that stained his lips. Her tongue snaked into his mouth, their tongues tangling and teeth clashing. She tasted sweet like cherries and roses in bloom, as if it was always springtime with her. And it was, it truly was, even though Draco thought of himself as a romantic swot for thinking it. He had never imagined that he would be with Hermione, even during the height of the war when she'd helped him with his heat. He'd thought neither of them would come out of the war alive, nor exist undisturbed, and with the one, they wanted around them.

He’d had no choice in taking the Dark Mark, forced into it with his father’s harsh gaze on his back, while Voldemort smiled down upon him. He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t falter; he’d taken the mark like a Malfoy, while Voldemort had chuckled at his spiraling thoughts, as they’d betrayed him for the shrieking boy that he was. The Mark had branded him, the traitor that he was, and he’d thought after the war ended that it would assure his place in Azkaban.

  
  
Only it hadn’t - and he was there, beside her; his mate, his love, the girl who no one else could hold a candle to. “Hermione,” he faltered, before saying it again. “My Hermione.”

  
She was the one he'd never thought he'd have, the muggle-born who had always bested him at school. He'd wanted her like he'd wanted no other and had wanted to hate her when he couldn't have her. He'd let Pansy think she was his girlfriend, while he watched Granger (as she was then) moon over Krum, and relentlessly argue with Weasley. He'd always felt a twit in his stomach, the same as if he'd drunk curdled milk when Potter slung his arm around her or Weasley hugged her. He'd wished she was in Slytherin, or even Ravenclaw, knowing then he could have at least spoken with her, as it was, his father would have known in a moment if he'd approached her with anything but hate. Hate, he'd learned, allowed him to be close to her.

  
  
Now, he couldn’t imagine surrounding her with anything but love, no matter what his parents (or anyone else) thought of it - of _him_. His name meant nothing to him, nor his bloodline. His mate was the one that mattered, and the family they were making.

  
  
She scraped her fingernails over his scalp, as he cradled her face in his hands. He shivered as she scratched his scalp, a feeling that she knew he loved.

  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered, and he felt her lips curve.

"For what?" she mumbled before their lips parted. He tweaked her breast, and she blushed, regardless of what had just passed between them.

  
  
“For being here,” he said, and she knew what he meant. He wasn’t one to open up, though he disregarded what others thought more than she did. He had been raised amidst the height of society and cared little for any of them or gracing the newspapers. His father had always taken breakfast with no fewer than five newspapers spread before him, his mother frequently by his side, as they looked for mention of the Malfoy name. Their ambition had united them, the same as the war had torn them apart. “With me.”

  
  
“Where else would I be?” Hermione asked softly and Draco -

  
  
Draco swept her into his arms, crushing her frame against him. “I love you,” he murmured, and she smiled as she buried her head against his chest. She knew that he meant what he said, the same as when he’d cried in her arms, and said that he was sorry for how cruelly he’d treated her. She trusted him more than any other, even Harry or the Weasleys who were like her family.

"You're the only one that I want," Hermione told him earnestly. "The only one that I long for, and that I love Draco." she kissed his pec, and he chuckled.

  
  
“Not Potter? Or Weasley?”

  
  
“Just you,” she replied. “Just you, Draco.”  
  


* * *

  
  


Months later, Pipsy was over the moon.

  
Her family had grown after Mister Malfoy had taken his wife to St. Mungo's. Anxiously wringing her hands, Pipsy had waited behind with Merlin and tended to the house. She'd waxed the floors twice before weeding the garden and had even fed the bees before fleeing back to the house.

  
  
And then -

  
  
Three days later, Master Draco and Mistress Hermione had come home, with a _baby_. “Would you like to hold him, Pipsy?” Hermione asked her, gently settling the swaddled baby in her arms. “His name is Scorpius.”

  
  
“Hullo, Master Scorpius,” Pipsy had whispered, feeling the bond entangle between them.

  
  
She knew then that she would protect Scorpius with her life, the same as she would his parents. The story of Dobby was one she knew well and had taken to heart. "Pipsy will take care of him," she'd promised them, and puffed out her chest. "Better than any house-elf!"

  
  
Pipsy had said the same thing, only ten months later when twins had joined their family: baby Lyra, with a mop of blonde curls, and eyes the same gorgeous color as her mother’s, while Leo had the features reversed. Pipsy had cooed over the babies, blissful at the idea of taking care of _three_ babies, and one furry charge. She’d snickered when she heard Mistress Hermione tell her mate there wouldn’t be another baby for _years_. Pipsy was a _good_ house-elf, but she doubted that was true, though her owners had forbidden her from punishing herself.

  
  
And the next year, Pipsy found that she was right.

  
  
There were arachnid triplets that came in the mail, with a note attached from Hagrid, thanking Hermione and Draco for their contribution to the flourishing eco-system at Hogwarts. They’d quickly housed the arachnids in the greenhouse, where they thrived; living at peace with the bees, though Merlin was fond of crashing through their webs (and learned to dash away quickly, before the arachnids threw hexes at him).

  
  
Pipsy found too, that the familial magic continued to sing in harmony. It weaved around them all, even the bees that produced more honey than ever before, and the arachnids learned to make a web solely for Merlin to bother. Master Draco took easily to being a father, showing his children the affection he’d never had, while Pipsy found Mistress Hermione was meant to read to children while holding them on her lap. Pipsy reveled in the magic of the family, and the beautiful notes, and the magic -

  
  
The magic sang louder still when Hermione found herself pregnant again in the New Year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Pateu, Simon, and Horza, thank you! 🦝🖤


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been reading wayyy too many beautiful yet angst-filled fics.
> 
> My heart can't take it anymore 😫💛
> 
> I *needed* to write this, and hope you enjoy it! Thank you for reading! (:

“Gillyweed, carrot tops, salamander tails -“

His wife’s laughter interrupted his thoughts.

“Not that I mind,” Draco said slowly, “but why are you laughing?”

“You look like Snape,” Hermione replied, pressing her palm against her lips. Draco blinked, raising his hands to his hair. It felt greasy and tousled beneath his fingers, and he murmured a spell, smoothing it back into place.

Draco felt his own lips twitch, too amused to scold his wife for bursting into his laboratory. He’d insisted that she not help him brew any potions, fearing that her exposure to volatile ingredients could end in disaster. She’d sulked and pouted until he’d promised her that he would let her review his notes, and had snogged her protests away.

He flicked his wand, casting a stasis on his bubbling cauldron. “Shouldn’t you address me as Professor then?” Draco purred, moving to stand in front of his wife. Her teeth sank into her plump bottom lip, something they both knew drove him wild.

“Ah, ah -,” Draco chided, cradling her cheeks in his hands. “No biting your lip, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Hermione shivered at the title, feeling a tingling warmth inside her. Her mother had raised her to know that she didn’t have to take her husband’s name, if she did marry - “_You can be a Granger still_,” her mother told her, “_Or hyphenate your last name if you'd like darling_. _You’ll always have a choice_.”

It was what her mother had done, and what Hermione thought she would do as well, until Draco had been lavishing attention between her thighs, and whispered how well she was taking his fingers. “_You’re perfect, Mrs. Malfoy_,” he’d crooned.

And she’d been lost in his hold, writhing against his mouth.

“_Say it again_,” she’d begged, and he’d teased her, spelling the title out on her thigh before delving his tongue back inside. He adored the fact she’d taken his name, though he admitted he wouldn’t have minded taking hers. “_Anything but Potter_,” he said, pretending to shudder. “_Or gods help me, Weasley_.”

‘_Or Greengrass_,’ Hermione thought, her husband having told her of the marriage his parents had arranged for him. The thought of Draco with another made her chest hurt, though it was soothed with Draco’s fingers combing through her curls.

“Apologies, Professor,” Hermione said, rising to the tips of her toes. She kissed the bridge of his nose and felt him smile against her skin. It was a sight that only she knew, and she adored his smile, knowing how it softened his features. “How may I make it up to you?”

She felt him harden against her stomach and snuggled closer to him. She never could get enough of him, though she wasn’t going to tell him that - his ego was big enough already, and hardly needed stroking. Draco chuckled, knowing his sweet wife well enough to guess her thoughts.

“I can think of a few things,” Draco purred, nuzzling his cheek against hers. He moved his hand to the nape of her neck, while the other cradled her cheek still. “You know that Slytherin jumper in your closet?”

"Mhm…" Hermione replied, knowing where his thoughts were going. Her husband loved to see her in Slytherin colors, while she'd giggled at the sight of him wearing Gryffindor boxers (Luna having given him some for Christmas, alongside a rare Venus flytrap). "And for my bottoms, Professor?"

Draco dragged kisses down her cheek and the curve of her jaw. He delighted in his little wife, reverence behind every kiss, and touch. "The green -"

“Lacy -“

“Knickers with a pink bow,” Draco finished, grinning.

It was his favorite pair of knickers that she wore, accompanied with a matching bra. It was a set that he'd had to replace more than once after he'd ripped them off of her. "My Slytherin Queen," Draco added, feeling her rock her hips against him. He would be willing to bet galleons that she was wet for him already, and his fingers ached to slip between her legs. But he wouldn’t, not yet.

“Heir to Slytherin,” Hermione replied, her lips curving into a smile. He barked in amusement, Hermione having told him about the Golden Trio’s assumption that he truly was the heir, instead of Tom Riddle.

At the mention of his name, Draco shuddered -

He felt Voldemort’s eyes on him again and heard his low whisper in his ear. “_Sweet Draco, what will you do for me_?”

He felt his chest tighten, though he didn’t hear the shallow pants that came from his lips. He clutched his forearm, feeling _pain_ -

“Draco,” his precious wife, his wonderful mate cooed. She knew how to bring his attention back to her, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looked down, feeling her hand on his forearm where the stain of his Dark Mark resided. She traced slow circles on his skin as if she wasn't ashamed to touch him. 

“I was o-one of them,” he croaked, his shoulders hunching. “A D-Death Eater-“

“It’s okay, Draco, it’s okay.”

She drew her fingers lower to his wrist, where his gland was. He whimpered at the feeling, enjoying her caresses on his marked gland. He bore his mark on his wrist and his neck, the same as she bore his. “You chose a different path,” Hermione murmured, remembering how he’d abandoned his family after she’d been tortured by Bellatrix. He’d accompanied them on their hunt for the Horcruxes, and had watched over her as if -

As if he would have done - as if he would do - anything for her.

She knew the guilt her husband carried still, and the nightmares that haunted him at night. She’d held him as he sobbed before he'd pushed himself away from her and confessed the revels he’d seen at the manor. It was then Hermione had realized how he felt he was unworthy; of her and their life together.

She'd closed the distance between them, and tucked his head against her chest while murmuring comforting words to him. “_I don’t blame you, Draco_,” she’d whispered, knowing how his gaze strayed to the mark on her forearm, one his aunt had given her. “_No one does.”_

He’d been a child caught up in a war the same as they had. She knew the Order of the Phoenix would have accepted him, had he come to them earlier, and things could have been different… Yet was that true? She’d learned after the war, how Dumbledore had manipulated Snape the same as Voldemort had.

And Harry, and the others too.

Perhaps Draco’s role had been chosen since birth, the same as Harry’s had, Hermione thought. Neither of them had asked for their roles, instead, given them. “You’re a good man, Draco,” Hermione said, meaning every word, “Please don’t doubt that.”

Draco slowly inhaled, feeling his panic receding. “You’re too good to me, Hermione.”

“No,” her head shook, her curls framing her face. “It’s what you deserve Draco.”

He deserved all of her, something she would show him, for as long as she lived. She was known for her stubbornness, after all, and had no plans on giving up on him. She hadn’t given up on S.P.E.W. had she?

“I love you,” she said, as earnestly and sweetly as the child she’d once been. “You, Draco, more than I’ve ever loved anyone else.”

His lips twisted into a crooked smile. “Even Krum?”

She snorted.

_Boys_.

“Even Krum,” she confirmed, her mate having confessed how jealous he’d been at the Yule Ball. “_Not only was Krum my favorite player but you were on his arm_ -“ Draco’s nose had scrunched. “_Looking bloody gorgeous_.” He’d added that he’d abandoned Pansy after the first dance, something she’d hexed him for later.

Her own relationship with Krum had lasted after he left Hogwarts, as they wrote each other letters. There was a friendship between them and the possibility of something there -

Only she’d had eyes for another, one that she’d buried in the corner of her heart. “There’s no one like you, Draco,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink. “You’re the one that I want.”

“As are you,” he replied, and she knew he meant every word. He’d said once that he’d never lie to her, and she found that she’d believed him even then.

Hermione brought his wrist to her lips and kissed it gently.

He keened when her teeth scraped his gland, and heat pooled in his groin. No one else made him feel as Hermione did, every nerve in his body coming alive; intently aware of her. She’d buried herself beneath his skin, and he wanted to keep her there, never being separated from her.

_Claim, claim, claim_ -

He heard his instincts croon. As pregnant as his wife was, he longed for her still and would keep her in his bed, if he could. He and Pipsy hardly let Hermione out of their sight, and he’d smirked more than once when their house-elf outsmarted her. Pipsy refused to wear clothing that Hermione knitted for her but declared she would wear them when she did things _for_ her Missus.

Admittedly, Draco found the sight of Pipsy wearing a knitted cap adorable, with the bell on the capped end of it. Their cat Merlin had a knitted collar too, as well as knitted cat toys with catnip inside them. Hermione had knitted things that were coming for their baby too, tucking them away in a hope chest that Draco hade made for her. She’d cried at the sight of it, before snogging him senseless -

And then they'd fallen into bed together as if they were both in heat again. Hermione had covered his face in kisses and left hickeys down his throat, ones he'd insisted on leaving unhealed. He felt a thrill at being marked by her, making no move to ever hide his mating mark or the hickeys that decorated his skin. They were marks that he chose, marks that he wanted his mate to inflict on him, unlike all the others he’d been forced into.

He left his hickeys on her in turn, marking the inside of her thighs, and the curve of her breast. Hermione was shyer than he was about other people seeing the marks he left on her; though she frequently wore her hair up in soft ringlets, and left her marked throat exposed. She knew that he wanted the world to know who she belonged to and would have been lying had she said she didn’t feel the same.

“Will you let me have you?” Draco breathed, his eyes darkening as Hermione pressed his wrist against her chest. He felt her heartbeat steadily beneath his hand and splayed his fingers across her breast. Her chest was fuller than before, the onset of pregnancy making her softer, and curvier than the young woman she’d been.

He loved the changes in her, the same as he’d loved her body before. It was one of the reasons why he wanted to see her in her green jumper, the sight of her in it his favorite, ever since Molly Weasley had sent it. He had his own Gryffindor sweater, though he was loath to wear it, except when Hermione teased him about it.

If Draco was honest, he delighted in anything Hermione wore, eager to rip it off of her.

But the sweater - the damned sweater made him think about if Hermione had been his girl while at Hogwarts. He would have been thrilled to sneak her into his dorms, knowing she would have loved the sight of the mermaids in their natural habitat, just as he would have loved her curls splayed over his pillow. It was a fantasy he teased himself with, imagining his fingers in her mouth, as she suckled them to keep quiet from his roommates discovering them. He knew just how _loud _Hermione was…

“Please,” Draco murmured, licking his bottom lip.

He ached to snuggle with her into their bed, covering her small frame with his. He wanted to groom her until her skin was soaked with his pheromones, his instincts demanding that everyone know she was his. His scent was something he never wanted to fade from her, his scent imprinted on her. It bound them together, the same as their marks on each other’s necks, and he reveled in the thought of it.

“Hermione,” he groaned, feeling his erection become painfully hard. Her hand was stroking him through his jeans, a feeling that he couldn’t get enough of. “Let me have you.”

He wanted to lavish her with attention, delving between her thighs while hiking her legs over his shoulders, a position that she loved to be in. She was his alpha, his mate, and he wanted to please her, in ways that he’d never even dreamed of pleasing another.

“You know that I will,” Hermione teased, her smile widening at Draco’s whimper. There was a part of her that purred at his submission, approving of how he craved her. His submission to her was never something that she would abuse, the same as she trusted him to help her during her ruts. Yet she knew that he could take her taunting and her teasing, as she felt his erection. “But not here, Draco.”

She knew that his instincts were taking over; fire flooding his system. She was sopping wet between her legs, and Draco deeply inhaled when her scent filled the air. It was honey dipped in rose petals, a scent that he wanted to roll about and cover himself in until it was a forever part of him.

Gods, he loved her.

“Didn’t you want me to wear your favorite jumper, and the lacy knickers, Professor?” she kissed him again, her touch sweet against his temple. She was like spring; fresh and sweet, and he felt himself blooming beneath her touch. “You’ll have to take me to bed to get that.”

“Hmm…”

Hermione squeaked as her mate picked her up as if she were a child again. He cradled her head against his shoulder, while her legs dangled over his arms. “Let me take you there,” Draco purred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Soup, thank you! 🦝🖤


End file.
